


Bound And Determined

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Series: Let Him Be My Master Elsewhere [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Aftercare, Anti-Masturbation Devices, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bisexual John Watson, Bondage, Caning, Dom John Watson, Done offscreen, Flogging, M/M, POV First Person, POV John Watson, Pre-Relationship, Rimming, Sub Drop, Sub Sherlock Holmes, Tickle Torment, Victorian Attitudes, Victorian sexual mores
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 16:33:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3943789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While investigating a death, a bad situation in a brothel sends Holmes into a submissive drop. It is something he has never experienced before, and has no idea how to cope.<br/>Watson carefully coaxes him back to himself, and helps him to understand what he is feeling and shows him how to come out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound And Determined

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place separately from The Steamer Trunk Case Files fics I write. Which means, the timing is different for when they get together, but my headcanons for them remain the same, such as Watson being very progressive, and Holmes wearing camisoles and knickers instead of union suits.  
> This was inspired by that Frogwares Sherlock Holmes video that they put up on YouTube back in April. It was originally going to be just a short smutty little thing, but as always, the boys ran away with it.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen wound patterns like this. Have you come across something similar before? A patient, perhaps?”

I crouched down, but declined the lens Holmes offered me. I didn’t need it to see the injuries that striped the man’s naked skin. With four members of the official police looming above us, I couldn’t explain that I was very familiar with injuries of the sort. Instead, I tilted my head to the side, as if considering the marks. “They look to be done with a thin lash. A cat o' nine tails, going by the repetitious manner in them. You see how each cluster of lacerations is the same length, and roughly spaced out evenly?” I gestured with my pencil. “And each one ends in a circular pattern, likely from the knot at the end of each tail.”

“So,” PC Hopkins hunkered down beside us to get a better look at the injuries. “Our poor fellow was in the navy?”

“It is possible, yes. Cats are officially out of use in naval fleets-”

“But since when has the official line ever represented what is actually going on?” Holmes finished for me, so I didn’t need to stammer through an attempt at an explanation. He was giving me a sharp look, until I eventually ducked my head under his gaze.

“Take photographs of the injuries for me, Hopkins. Get them to me as soon as possible, if you want me to solve this murder for you.”

The three of us stood, and with no more information to be gleaned from the scene, Holmes and I took our leave.

It was three hours later, in our sitting room, when Holmes stopped his frustrated pacing and turned on me. He stabbed a long, thin finger in my direction with an angry sneer on his face. “You lied back there.”

Instincts told me to bristle at the accusation. I even got so far as standing up and opening my mouth to shout him down. The look that Holmes was giving me was so fierce, and almost ashamed of me, that I relented. “I did, yes.”

“That man was no more of a sailor than I am. And you knew the source of his injuries. How?” he demanded and sat on his chair like a king slipping into his throne. With his hands folded in his lap, Holmes gave me an imperious stare until I sat back down across from him.

“I recognised them. I’ve seen similar wounds before. Almost identical, really.”

“Yes, Watson. That much is obvious. Please move on to the part I don’t know. How did you recognise them? From what I understand, a cat o’ nine tails shouldn’t have inflicted the amount of damage we saw today. Some bruising, or welts, yes. Not broken skin and whip weals.”

I scratched my fingers through my hair then tugged on my earlobe for a moment before rising from my chair again. This time, I went up into my bedroom and drew a box from beneath my bed. Treating the contents tenderly, I took it out and brought it downstairs.

It was as long as my body, from shoulder to floor and made of braided leather. The handle had once been a drumstick, and was covered in the intricate weave of the strips. Each tress had a small knot, and the tips were cut at an angle to bring them to a point. I had several others that were much smaller, but this was about the same size as the one that had inflicted the injuries on our murder victim.

The cat had been packed away in the box for months, so the tresses were holding the shape of the curve. I set it down next to the fire to warm up and become more flexible. While Holmes watched, his eyes wide in alarm and surprise, I set some sheets of newspaper on the floor over a pillow in an approximation of a man’s shape.

Shedding my jacket, I unbuttoned and rolled the cuffs of my shirt and picked up the cat. The leather was warm and supple in my hand as I positioned myself above the padded figure. I swung the tresses back and forth for a moment before bringing them down hard on the paper. Two more strikes in different places gave a good example of the impact pattern.

I was panting softly when I was finished, and needed to sit down strategically in order to conceal the state my efforts had left me in. It wasn’t serious enough that I needed to place a cushion onto my lap, but blood had certainly travelled south, and quickly. As I was composing myself, Holmes knelt on the floor to examine the tears in the paper.

“Almost identical,” he breathed out softly, holding the paper up to the window so he could see how it was shredded. Turning, he looked over his shoulder at me. “Left over from your service in the army? Were you in charge of corporal punishment with the troops?” he asked.

As tempting as it was to let him believe that, Holmes would see through my lie soon enough. And it would slow him down in his investigation. “Ah- no. It’s not military related.”

In truth, it had been during my time in the army that I had discovered this side of myself. And that there were others who shared the same sort of peccadilloes.

“It’s related to the… other thing, that you have so much experience in.” Holmes murmured, finishing my thought for me again. He had rocked back onto his heels, still staring at the newspaper.

Perhaps holding the old cat after so many months had put me in a certain sort of mindset. Or, perhaps it was the expression of wonder on Holmes’ expressive face as he looked up at me from his place on his knees. Regardless, my body reacted, and I found myself reaching for the cushion to place across my thighs.

Of course, it didn’t escape Holmes’ notice, but he had the grace not to mention it. Standing from the floor, Holmes sat back down on his chair and crossed his legs. “This…” he cleared his throat and folded the shredded pieces of paper up and tossed them into the fire. “People use these sort of things for sex?”

I rested my forearms over the cushion, discreetly pressing down against my lap and hunched over. “It isn’t common. And most people need to pay for the service.” My tongue darted over my lip before I carried on. “There are two sorts of people that enjoy it. Those that like to be in control, and those that like to hand control over. It is much easier for the latter to get what they need from a professional.”

“Which sort are you?”

“I am the first sort. I enjoy the control, and all the aspects that come with it. Giving orders, and meting out punishment when those orders are disobeyed. Or, when my partner asks for punishment.” The more I spoke of it, the more my body reacted. I was achingly hard, and I could feel myself throbbing against the cushion. “It’s harder for someone like me to find another person that enjoys the act. Hiring a professional that doesn’t enjoy the act, it is too much like abuse for me to enjoy it.” I rubbed the side of my neck, rolling my shoulders. “You recall what I told you about myself, when we first met?”

My friend nodded and steepled his fingers under his chin. “That you had a set of vices that you weren’t able to engage in, because of your injuries.”

I trusted Holmes. I trusted him completely, but I still hesitated before making my next confession. “I tried, not long before I met you in that lab. I was still in my hotel on the Strand, and someone had sent me a telegram.”

“You hired the post boy.” Holmes sighed and leaned back in his chair. Sweeping his hair up off his face, he shook his head. “Reckless, Watson. Very reckless.”

“It was. But I was distressed, and alone, and hadn’t been with another person in months. And he had the most beautiful blue eyes, and bit his lip in the most charming way.” I shifted in my seat and pressed up against the cushion. “He was very eager, and excited, but got frightened when I put him over my knee.” I mimicked Holmes’ action and slid my fingers back through my hair and tugged at the strands. “I had to switch tactics, to just giving him instructions. That eased him into things. But after that, I knew I couldn’t hire someone for that sort of activity.”

Holmes poured me a glass of scotch, and pressed it into my hand. He took out his small notebook and began scribbling in shorthand. “Is this limited to men who are… I mean, who have…”

“The vice of the Greeks?” I offered. When he nodded, I shook my head. “I’ve met my share of women who enjoy it just as much as men. From both sides of it. Those I’ve met who engage in this seem to be from all walks. It isn’t limited to homosexuals, but also men who love women, or women who love men, or… whatever it is that I am.” I finished with a sigh.

Holmes reached out and squeezed my knee, and I just managed to swallow a pleased moan.

“So it is likely that our victim’s injuries were inflicted consensually?”

“I didn’t say that. But it is possible that he received them at the hands of a professional. He wasn’t married, after all.”

Holmes beamed at me with pride. “You noticed that. I’m impressed.”

“I’ve learned from the best, after all. Now, there are three brothels in London that I know of offhand, that cater to men and women that want to hire someone for an hour or so of discipline and instruction.” Holmes gave me his notebook and pencil, and I gave him the addresses of the ones with which I was familiar. I knew that he would be going to investigate, and that it was pointless to try and stop him. “Let me know which one you go to, each time.” I voiced it as an order, and Holmes sighed, tucking the notebook into his pocket.

“Yes, Doctor. Of course.” He flapped his hands to try to dismiss my concern, and vanished into his bedroom. He came back fifteen minutes later, forcing me to stop grinding on my cushion. Holmes was dressed as a young sailor with his hair slicked back and his cap perched at a cheeky angle on his head.

His knot was tied incorrectly, so I beckoned him forward, still not able to rise from the chair in my current state. I slipped my fingers under the material and loosened it, stroking the soft cloth with my fingertips.

“You’re very aroused, aren’t you?” he chuckled.

I tightened the neck cloth quickly, cutting off his air and the laugh for a second before fixing the knot. “Apologies,” I muttered blandly. “My hand slipped.”

Holmes looked chastised, and straightened up. “I’m sorry, that was out of line.” He cleared his throat and smoothed out his uniform. “I’ll send word as soon as I know something.”

“Be careful. Just ask your questions, and leave. Don’t make me go running around London, trying to find you.”

Sketching a salute, Holmes clicked his heels together and trotted from the room.

The door had barely closed when I tossed the cushion from my lap and scrambled for my belt.

  


I received a telegram an hour later, telling me that the first place he had gone to had been a dead end.

After that, the messages came every hour on the hour, letting me know where he was and what he had learned.

It was nine in the evening when I last heard from him, and he seemed to be in high spirits.

“At Colonel’s Folly. Photograph recognised. Investigation in progress. Is this carrier appealing? Relieve some tension. Home soon.”

The lad was rocking from foot to foot and chewed on his lip, obviously under instruction. I sighed and gave him a generous tip and shooed him off while muttering oaths under my breath. After a time, I convinced myself that I was too old to leave spiders in Holmes’ bedding in retaliation.

I retired with a book to wait out the hour until his next telegram arrived. The book absorbed me, and I didn’t notice that it was nearly eleven, with still no message from him. By the time it struck midnight, I was pacing the sitting room, and stopping every couple of minutes to twitch aside the curtains and look down to the street.

Not knowing if he had gone on to a different establishment, I wasn’t able to track him down. We could miss each other by moments each time I went somewhere to try to find him. I sent a message to Hopkins, asking if he had heard from him, and went back to my pacing.

It was well after two in the morning when a hansom clattered down Baker Street, coming to a halt in front of our building. The driver swore loudly and pushed a man out of the cab, and I saw through the window as Holmes fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” I shouted after slamming out the front door. The driver was poised above Holmes, his foot drawn back to kick him.

“This bastard’s drunk, or spent days in an opium den, or something.” the man growled, spitting on the street next to Holmes. “He comes staggering up to my cab, words all slurred up, and picking at his clothes. Now he’s blubbering that someone else will pay his fare.”

I shoved some coins at him and took a quick step in his direction to startle him off.

“Holmes? Can you hear me?” I crouched down next to him and checked his pulse. No alcohol scent came off of him, but there was something pungent there. When Holmes didn’t reply, I swept him up in my arms and carried him inside. He gripped my shirt and rubbed the material to feel the weave.

“Found the murderer.” Holmes mumbled while I was brewing him a cup of milky tea.

“I knew you would.” I knelt in front of him so I could see his face, and curved his hands around the warm cup. He made no move to drink it, so I lifted it up and guided it to his mouth. The hot liquid against his lips woke him slightly, and he took a sip. “There you are. Wonderful,”

“Not as good as you think I am.” Holmes’ voice was shaky and faraway, his words coming out slowly as if he needed to concentrate to understand what each one meant.

“Good lord, Holmes. What did he do to you?” I rolled the cuffs of his sleeves up to expose his forearms and the inside of each elbow. The scars from his injections were fading to white, and to my intense relief, his skin showed no sign of fresh injections.

“No drugs,” he muttered, shaking his head. “They didn’t use drugs. Not… not like I normally use.”

Holmes’ wrists had red marks circling them, chafe marks from a rough rope. “They? More than one person?”

Sniffing, Holmes nodded and drained his tea. “A man and wife. She issued the punishments, he gave the orders. It was different there, than at the other establishments.”

I fetched a blanket and slung it around Holmes’ shoulders, tucking it up around his chin to keep him warm. “Which place was this? The Colonel’s Folly?”

“No, not there. The Folly was wonderful. Everyone was encouraging, and asked questions.” Holmes drew his knees up and burrowed into the blanket until only his face was showing above the top. “Answered the questions I had, and gave a dem- dem-”

“Demonstration?”

“That,” Holmes agreed. “One of their clients agreed to let me sit in on his time. And when I asked about a place where someone could get injured, they told me about Astrid’s.”

“What did they do to you there, Holmes?”

He shook his head and picked at the yarn of the blanket. “Things,” he replied eventually. “They had to have known why I was there. I don’t feel right, Watson.”

I gathered Holmes up to my chest and led him upstairs to my bedroom. Lighting the lamps, I sat Holmes on the edge of my bed then went downstairs to wake Billy. He yawned and complained, but put on his boots. The boy took my message and trotted out of the house to bring the message to Hopkins.

“They will be in a cell before morning.” I told Holmes when I went back upstairs. “Now, let me see the damage.”

Holmes’ fingers were fumbling as he tried to open the buttons of his shirt. I sat on the edge of the bed next to him, and moved his hands away. “It’s all right. I’m just going to take these off. Did they hurt your legs, or anywhere between them?”

He gave a soft sort of choking sound and shook his head rapidly.

I stripped Holmes down to his undergarments, finding that he was wearing a soft chemise and a pair of knickers with lace that came to his knee. Stroking the silk, I frowned. “Are these yours, or did they put them on you?”

Holmes stared down at the clothing for a moment, as if confused that I had managed to get him out of his sailor uniform. “Mine,” he twisted a bit of lace between his fingers, smiling down at them. “They are more comfortable than all-in-ones, and the material of men’s underthings is coarse on my skin.”

“I’m going to lift your chemise.” I warned, shifting behind him. Once again, I smelled that pungent stink that rolled off of his skin. “What is that?” I asked, examining his back and shoulders for injuries. There was some bruising, but no lash marks.

“It was like an opium den. They burned something in a brazier. Hashish, maybe. Something I haven’t used in a long time.”

Swearing softly, I massaged the back of Holmes’ neck. “The effects should wear off by morning. It shouldn’t cause any withdrawal reactions, like the morphine does.”

Holmes sighed and leaned against my chest, slouching down so he could fit his head under my chin.

He was limp and sluggish, and didn’t put up a protest when I lifted him into the bed. Covering him with the sheet, I blew out the lamps and slid in behind him, drawing the blankets up over us both. The sheet was a barrier between us, but was thin enough that Holmes could feel my warmth through it. I hummed quietly to him, coaxing him into sleep.

Our night passed fitfully, and neither of us looked rested when we woke in the morning. Holmes staggered down to his bedroom to change into something more presentable, gave up partway through, and spent the rest of the day in trousers and a dressing gown. He was moody and rude, but it was a different kind of moody and rude than he usually showed. Holmes would stare off at nothing, seemingly lost in his head, and when I would touch his arm or his shoulder to get his attention it took him a long while to come back to himself.

I conducted the interview with Hopkins, letting him believe that Holmes was suffering a severe toothache which prevented him from speaking comfortably. Holmes’ soft mumblings only helped the deception.

Madam Astrid’s Boarding House, as it was known to the public, had been raided that morning. The couple that ran the establishment had been taken into custody. Even as they were being taken away, the woman had been screaming obscenities and accusations at her much harried husband. It would take some time to find former clients who were willing to go under oath about what had happened to them there, and which member of the pair was in control.

After Hopkins took his notes and left, I tried to coax Holmes into eating something. He harrumphed at the offer of soup, and turned his nose up at a sandwich. I even went so far as to venture out into the rain to his favourite restaurant to order a hamper.

He picked at a dish of baked chicken, and pushed his potatoes around on his plate with his chin on his hand.

This routine went on for three more days, with me asking, pleading, and at one point full out begging Holmes to at least eat some toast or drink some milk. His mood was still dark, but it wasn’t the usual sort of calm, silent moroseness that would strike him after a case. Between bouts of quiet trembling, he would lash out, kicking his heels against the carpet, or pushing his plates away from him. I lost count of the number of cushions that were hurled at me over that week.

“Stand up,” I finally ordered after another failed dinner on the fourth day.

Holmes blinked slowly at me from where he was curled up in his chair, grumpily pulling at the weave of the carpet with his toes. “I’m sorry?”

“You had better be. Now, stand up.” This time, I pointed to the floor in front of me.

Scrambling to his feet, Holmes swayed slightly as he stood, but the trembling that he had been suffering from seemed to have passed.

“Open your mouth.”

His lips parted, and I slipped a peach slice between them. Chewing and swallowing, his mouth popped open for another piece. I fed him the fruit, then wiped his chin clean with a napkin. “Would you like some toast now?”

Holmes looked down at the plate, with its two pieces of thick toast, smeared with butter and honey. He made a sound of distress low in the back of his throat.

Sighing, I tried again. “Open your mouth.” Once more, he obeyed without question. “I’m sorry, Holmes. I should have thought of this sooner.”

By taking away his need to make the decision himself, a decision he didn’t want to make, Holmes quickly began to relax. Giving him simple orders- Open your mouth. Sip your tea. Breathe slowly.- that he was able to obey without needing to put thought into it helped him to centre himself.

I hadn’t seen this sort of state with any of my partners in the past, at least not this severe, but I had an inkling of what was going on. While at the brothels, Holmes had begun to slip into a submissive mental state. It had probably begun while at the Folly, seeing a demonstration of eager, consensual play.

“Holmes, do you understand what I am saying to you?”

“You are telling me to eat.” he responded after swallowing a bite of toast.

“Yes, but you understand the words?” I stroked a hand over his soft hair, smoothing it back from his face.

“I do. You are speaking very clearly.”

With a soft chuckle, I nodded. “Good, that’s good Holmes. Now, tell me honestly. Do you trust me?”

He inhaled so sharply he choked on his weak laughter, doubling over to try to catch his breath. “Do you really need to ask that?” For a moment, his voice took on the biting tone he usually reserved for members of the official police. It should have nettled, but I was pleased to see that my Holmes was still there, just behind the submissive behaviour.

“Yes, I do. Now answer the question.” I ordered after patting his back to help him catch his breath.

He cleared his throat and straightened back up. “I’m sorry. Yes, Watson. I trust you completely.”

“Wonderful,” I pinched him on the point of his chin, and turned on my heel. “Follow me.”

Holmes held the back of my shirt to keep up with me on our way up to my bedroom.

“You enjoyed what you saw at the Colonel’s Folly, didn’t you?” I crouched down next to my small hearth and stoked up a glowing fire.

“Most of it, yes,” he agreed. I could feel him just behind me, watching what I was doing.

“What did you dislike?” Looking up at him, I reached out to caress Holmes on his hip.

He rolled his shoulder and shifted from foot to foot. “It wasn’t pleasant, when the women were involved.” he eventually admitted, sulkily.

I just managed to bite down on a chuckle. “But there were no acts that were unpleasant for you?” He shook his head and pressed against me. “That’s good. That will make this easier. What did you watch?”

While I was guiding Holmes to sit down on the edge of the bed, he listed out a variety of actions and punishments he had seen. His voice became breathy and shaking, almost droning. It seemed that most of that session had involved impact play, and other means of pain.

“Do you want me to finish that session for you?” I asked, standing in front of Holmes and combing my fingers through his hair.

Holmes grabbed my wrist and looked up at me with wide eyes. “You mean that? You will do that for me?”

“It wouldn’t be entirely for you. I would enjoy it just as much,” I explained. “Answer the question, Holmes.”

“Yes. Yes, I want that.” After a breath, he added a timid “Please?”

For another moment, I continued to comb his hair. “On your feet, Holmes. I want you to remove your clothing, while I get things set up.”

From under my bed, I took out the box with my supplies, then stretched out on my back so I could wriggle under to take out the bars that were strapped to the underside of the frame. I set that aside for now, and turned to Holmes. He was still hesitating with his hands over the waistband of his knickers.

“Those are part of your clothing.” I pointed out. “Did you lie to me about them touching you there?” I rose up onto my knees and moved in front of him.

The knickers had a row of buttons up the side of his hip. I thumbed them open and slid the garment to his ankles, swearing as soon as I saw what was beneath.

“Did they put this on you?” I demanded.

Clamped tightly around the base of Holmes’ penis was a double ringed piece of metal. The inner ring had a small gap at the top to allow some swelling, but was tight enough to keep it in place even when flaccid. The outer ring made me feel ill. It was a bit larger, but featured sharp pointed teeth that angled inward. If Holmes became physically aroused, the inner ring would tighten, and the outer ring would bite into his flesh.

I stood up and washed my hands in the basin on my bureau. “I asked you a question.”

“No…” he sighed quietly, and I could hear him squirming in place behind me. “No, they didn’t put it on me. My physician when I was in university did. He said it would help to cure me of-” Holmes cut himself off and coughed into his fist.

Shaking the water off of my hands, I whirled around. “You are not _ill_ ,” I snapped. “Good Lord, what did he think would happen? That preventing you from having an erection would keep you from looking at men?”

I knelt in front of him and gently lifted his penis so I could see the screw knob underneath the device. I needed to grip it with a handkerchief to be able to twist the screw and loosen the rings. “For God’s sake, this is like conditioning.” I pried the thing free and pulled it off. The base of Holmes’ penis was dotted with scars of different ages. Some were bright red, others dull pink, and the oldest were silvery white. “Every time you became aroused, you experienced pain. They became linked.”

Furious, I stood up and threw the device into the hearth, showering sparks out onto the carpet where they sputtered out. “If I ever meet this physician, I am going to… I don’t know what I will do, but it will be unpleasant for him.” Kneeling back down, I checked his genitals for any signs of infection. All of the scars were closed and clean. Under the examination, Holmes began to swell and lengthen.

I gave it a squeeze, easing the foreskin back and forth a few times until it was fully erect. There didn’t seem to be any permanent damage, and even if it reacted slowly, it was likely because of mental conditioning. Holmes’ body was expecting pain and punishment for the blood flowing into the organ.

“We are going to limit this to a time schedule,” I explained, standing back up from the floor. Taking my clock from the bureau, I changed the time on it then set it down. “Are you listening to me, Holmes?”

He looked up and nodded sheepishly. “I am, yes.” His cheeks were pink and he looked back down to the cock standing up proudly out of a tidy little nest of black curls. “Does it look proper?”

His question was so nervous and worried that I forced myself to swallow down a laugh. “Yes, Holmes, it looks perfectly normal. It’s quite attractive. Smooth, and very well formed.” I unbuttoned the cuffs of my shirt and rolled them up to my elbows. Standing in front of my friend, I cupped the length, rubbing over the top with my thumb. “I was worried that something would have been injured internally.” I twisted my hand carefully, circling him with my thumb and forefinger. Sliding them from base to tip and back again a few times, I followed the curvature. “It is healthy and reacting well.”

I let him go and swiped at the tip with my handkerchief to clean the pre-ejaculate that was already streaming out of him. Using the tips of two of my fingers, I parted the slit to see how sensitive he was. More fluid dribbled out onto the cloth, clear and thin.

“Are you ready to start, Holmes?” I asked, folding the cloth and setting it aside.

“I thought we had started already,” Holmes mumbled and gestured to his erection. “Yes, I am. What do I do?”

I used my foot to push the box towards Holmes, then flipped the lid back. “You may take out three items to use. We might not use them all, but I will know that those are the ones that you feel comfortable with me using on you. We might use different ones another time, but for now, we’ll start small with just three.”

While Holmes was sifting through the box, examining each item by touch and sight, I set up the item I had pulled from under my bed. It was made of two Xs, and had a third bar that connected to the intersection of them. I had a collection of them, each a different length to dictate how far apart the Xs were spread. When put together, the contraption was taller than it was wide, with a strap fastened at the end of each point. The middle bar would force Holmes to keep his back straight, or the entire thing could be tipped forward to put him on his knees and elbows with his hips pushed up on display.

“These three,” Holmes announced, gesturing to what he had taken from the box. He had piled up the cat that had started us down this path, as well as a long strap of hard leather, and a thin cane.

“Are you certain?” I asked, dragging the frame near the fire to keep Holmes warm during our play.

I turned around, and Holmes was on his knees, holding out the cane across his palms like an offering. “I’m certain, Watson. These are the ones I would like.”

Accepting the cane, I turned it over in my hands, then cradled the back of Holmes’ head. I bent over at the waist, and kissed him on the forehead. “Very good choices,” I praised and straightened. I guided Holmes to the frame and strapped him in. His knees were spread wide and strapped in to the lower front points, while his ankles were strapped at the back. The bar in the middle just touched the curve of his back. If he had difficulty keeping himself from touching it, it would be a simple thing to wrap it in coarse twine as a deterrent.

“We can bring everything to a halt at any time,” I insisted, carefully binding Holmes’ wrists and elbows to the top of the frame. “If things become frightening, or too painful, or any other reason, you can tell me to stop.” Pacing around him, I checked to make sure that the straps were snug, but not tight enough to cut off feeling in his limbs. “I will stop immediately. No questions asked. And when our hour is up, we will be finished. Do you understand?”

Holmes swallowed thickly and shifted as much as the frame allowed. His erection twitched in excitement, practically nodding for him. “If I need this to stop, you will. I understand. Thank you.”  Just that small assurance, that he was in control of how far this went, and how much damage he would sustain, helped to ease away the tension through his shoulders and neck. His eyes were slightly glassy and bright, but didn’t seem to be focusing on anything.

I started the clock, changing the time to one minute past the hour, then stood behind Holmes. I rested one hand on his shoulder to show him where I was. “If you can stay silent for five strikes, you will get a reward.” Trailing the tip of the cane down Holmes’ spine, I stopped just above the swells of his slim rump. “The only noise you may make, is to count aloud if you need to keep track of them.”

Swinging the cane back and forth a few times to limber it up, I snapped it down onto one little mound of muscle. It was nowhere near as hard as I could go, but it was a decent first step. Holmes drew in a sharp breath through his nose, his head sagging forward. The second strike was harder, just the tip of the cane. I threaded my fingers into Holmes’ hair, pulling his head back up. I brought the cane down three more times, putting more force behind each blow. Through it all, Holmes didn’t make a noise, beyond his ragged breathing.

“That was wonderful, Holmes. You managed it perfectly.” I took his head in my hands, petting him from his brow down the back of his neck. “Time for your first reward.” I left the cane across Holmes’ arms to use later and stepped in front of him. Slipping my hands under my braces, I shrugged them off my shoulders and unfastened the buttons of my trousers.

Unlike Holmes, I wore a full suit of undergarments, but it was easy enough to open the buttons and draw my erection out.

Holmes looked from mine to his own, and gave a sound of dismay.

“Oh, hush,” I chided and tweaked his ear. “You’re bony and thin. It’s perfectly natural that your penis is slim as well.” I used the palm of my hand to demonstrate that while I was thicker than he was, mine was nearly a full inch shorter. “There, you see? Nothing to be bashful about.”

“I’m sorry,” Holmes pressed his cheek into my hand.

“You’re still learning, Holmes. Don’t dwell on it.” I took the cane up and used the tip to trace his jaw. “Open your mouth,” I ordered. “You may suck for five minutes. Mind your teeth.”

Holmes’ mouth was dry, his tongue almost coarse, from panting. As soon as he closed his lips around the head, I frowned and stepped back.

“Did I do it wrong?” Holmes looked up at me, flexing his hands to try to tug against his straps. “I’m sorry, I tried to be careful with my teeth, but it has been a long time since I-”

“Quiet,” His mouth closed with a click. “That’s better. Your teeth were fine. It’s just your tongue.” I poured a bit of water into my hand and offered it to Holmes. He sipped it from my palm, drops of water trickling down his chin. “Breathe through your nose if you are able to. Try again,”

Holmes lapped at the head to start, letting me feel his tongue. When I didn’t protest this time, he opened his mouth wider to take me in.

To keep to our schedule, and admittedly, to keep from getting too wrapped up in what he was doing to me, I watched the clock.

The frame prevented him from moving more than his head, but Holmes still bobbed on me, working down my length until I nudged against the back of his throat.

When five minutes had passed to the second, I stepped back. Holmes tried to follow, his tongue peeking out to reach for more. “You’re eager. That’s good, my dear.” I stooped to press another quick kiss to his forehead. After hesitating for a moment, I cupped him under the chin and kissed him full on the mouth, lips turned up into a smile as I did so.

Praise seemed to do almost as much for Holmes as the physical pleasure. With years of conditioning behind him, it was possible that he got more out of it, in fact. Holmes’ cock bobbed, trying to find friction in the air. I put my lips to his ear so he could feel my breath stir over the shell of it. “I am so proud of you.” I whispered before straightening.

I set the cane aside, trading it for the strap. Holmes was bound into the framework with his palms up. I caressed them with the end of the strap to show him where the next strikes would be focused on. “This time, you need to be silent for ten.”

Walking around Holmes, I tapped the strap against my hand, flexing my grip on the handle. Holmes watched me carefully, chewing on his bottom lip. “You probably got this a lot when you were young, didn’t you?” I smirked, bringing the leather down onto the heel of his left hand.

Holmes gasped and nodded. He opened his mouth for a moment, ready to respond to my question before he remembered his instructions.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. You likely talked back to your instructors. Two strikes for your smart mouth, four for daydreaming during your lessons, five for making eyes at the other lads.” I struck several more times, taking care not to hit the same place twice in a row. His palms were red and Holmes was pulling at the fastenings that held him in place.

The seventh blow was to the centre of Holmes’ left palm. Holmes arched his spine and cried out my name before he could silence himself.

I pulled the strap away and moved to stand in front of him. My hand went into his hair, tugging his head back so he was made to look at me. “You disobeyed me.”

“I tried.” he protested.

“And you failed.” I finished for him. From the look that crossed his features, that shame seemed like it would be worse than any punishment I could think up.

But I wasn’t about to let that stop me from giving it a valiant attempt.

Taking hold of the top of the frame, I yanked it forward to tip it over. Holmes let out a panicked sound as he saw the floor rushing toward his face. The bars of the frame hit the carpet with a thud, so his elbows just barely brushed the floor. Panting hard, Holmes stared wide-eyed at the floor before looking up at me.

“You had instructions, Holmes. You didn’t keep up your end of the bargain. What is the opposite of a reward?”

Holmes licked his lips and let his head hang between his arms until his forehead almost touched the floor. “A punishment,” he replied with a sigh.

“That’s very good. Seems I’m not wasting my time on you.” I stepped behind him and took one of his feet in my hands. I tickled the sole with my fingertips until he was laughing and begging in turns, twisting and squirming in his confines. His long toes curled then spread, and he pulled as far as the restraints would allow. Flushing red, Holmes arched his spine with his rump pressed up in the air.

I moved my fingers up his legs, tickling the backs of his knees and between his thighs before I reached his cheeks. Kneeling down, I spread him open to expose his cleft.

My tongue found his hole, lapping him in slow, long strokes. Holmes went silent, save for his ragged breathing and the wet movements of his mouth. His muscles were tight and tense in his effort to stop pulling at his binds.

“There now,” I pulled back and gave him a pat before using the bar of the frame to help pull myself back to my feet. Using my good arm, I hauled it upright again, supporting Holmes’ head with my free hand to keep it from lolling or jerking about on his neck. “Was that really so hard to stay quiet?”

Holmes looked up at me with wet eyes, opening his mouth for a moment before he closed it again.

“You can speak,” I laughed, caressing his jaw.

“ _Yes_ ,” he whined and pressed against my hand. “It was terribly difficult.”

I moved my hand to his chin to pinch it lightly again and rubbed my thumb over his bottom lip. “It was, wasn’t it? But you managed to do it.”

Once again, the praise gave Holmes a visceral reaction. He shivered and arched his spine. His cockstand pulsing. Parting his lips, Holmes lapped at my thumb for a moment before sucking it into his mouth.

After checking Holmes’ wrists and elbows to make sure he hadn’t managed to chafe himself raw, I poured some more water into my hand. I coaxed him into drinking it then wiped the droplets off his chin.

“We are going to try again. I should have known that keeping you silent for that long would have been beyond you so soon. We will try what we did to start. If you can stay quiet for five strikes, you’ll earn your reward.” As I was speaking, I gave Holmes some more water and massaged his shoulders. “Are you ready?”

Holmes kissed the inside of my wrist. “Yes, I think I am.” Holmes looked up at me with hooded eyes and a flush over his thin cheeks. “Thank you for being so patient with me.”

“This is your first time. Some allowances can be made. I won’t be so lenient next time.”

Fluttering his eyes prettily up at me, Holmes licked his lips. “Next time?”

“If you behave,”

I took the strap back up, flexing it in my hands. I held his wrist, and brought the strap down against the heel of his hand. It was nowhere near as hard as the first few strikes, but I could imagine how much it still must have stung.

Holmes sucked on his lip, biting it, determined not to make a sound. The blows fell on both of his hands, moving from one to the other and back again until I counted out five. When the last strike fell and I let him go, Holmes sagged forward, panting hard.

“Very good, Holmes. I’m impressed.”

It took little encouragement to get him to close his lips around my length again. He slid his tongue along the underside with his jaw slack, working steadily until his nose was pressed into my pubic hair.

I tucked my foot between his thighs, rubbing at his bollocks with the toe of my shoe as I combed my fingers through his hair. “You are doing so well.” I breathed. Holmes moaned around his mouthful, clenching his fists. Snug up behind his sac, my toe rubbed at him in circles before I took it back to stroke his erection. It bobbed and nodded under the attention and praise. “Look at you, so eager. I’ve never had a better submissive.”

With another long moan, Holmes bucked forward. He sucked hard on me as his body convulsed and shook, and I looked down just in time to see several thick ribbons of semen spill out onto the polished brown leather of my shoe.

Pleased to know that years bound up in that ring hadn’t prevented him from being able to ejaculate, I crouched down to cup Holmes’ face in my hands. I kissed his forehead then his lips with a smile. “Very well done, Holmes.”

“How can you think that? You haven’t had your orgasm yet.”

I straightened and moved behind him before picking up the cat. From being so near the fire, the tresses were loose and flexible. “No, I haven’t. But your climax doesn’t mark the end of play. It’s just one part of it unless I say otherwise.”

The tresses made a soft whispering sound as I moved them back and forth through the air, getting ready for a final step in our session.

To begin, my attentions were on his shoulders and the slender expanse of his upper back. I stood a few paces away from him, flicking the cat so the tips of each tress barely kissed his skin. Soon enough, little red spots bloomed on his back. Tiny welts, like bee stings spread out after each new strike.

It was more of a tease than a punishment, and I was having a great deal of fun leaving Holmes guessing. I draped the tresses over Holmes’ shoulder and stepped up close behind him. Cupping him under the chin, I tipped his head back. I rutted against the furrow between his shoulder blades, rocking my hips in a quick rhythm. His breathing was hard and rough, and he squirmed, giving me enough friction to finish myself. My orgasm came fast and hard, and I dug my fingers into Holmes’ hair, tugging it. Semen splattered against the back of his neck and trickled down his spine.

I sucked in deep gasps of air while moving back to admire the way my seed shone on his skin in the fire light. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I took the cat off his shoulders and let the tresses slide through the pearly grey fluid.

Drawing my arm back, I swung the cat hard. Behind me, the clock chimed the hour to mark the end of our session. I wasn’t able to stop the blow, so I put my arm in front of it, taking the sting of the impact.

I hissed and swore, shaking out my arm. I moved in front of Holmes and cradled his his head in my hands. “That was incredible, Holmes. You did wonderfully for your first session. I am so proud of you.” While I showered him with praise, I unstrapped him from the bars and eased him out of his position. His muscles were tight and it took some work to help him to straighten his limbs. “Good lad, you’re doing well. Can you speak yet?”

Holmes mumbled sleepily, something in Latin. He frowned, nose crinkling, and tried again. “Sore, stiff, tired.”

“All very normal, my dear.” I plucked Holmes up from the floor and bore him over to my bed to stretch him out on his belly. Even in the low light, I could see the bruises forming on his pale skin.

Working from his feet up to his shoulders, I washed Holmes carefully and massaged him, all the while crooning softly to him. “Was there anything about tonight that you didn’t enjoy? I need to know, so I don’t put you through it again.”

“I didn’t like how warm it was.” he replied after carefully recalling the events of our play. “It’s delightful right now, but while I was bound up in one spot, it got to be too much.”

I sat Holmes up to ply him with a bit of cooling tea and leaned him against my chest. “Being too cold can give you muscle cramps when you are like that. So, next time, I’ll set you up a little distance away from the fire. Was there anything else? Anything you don’t want repeated?”

Holmes stretched his arms and legs like a drowsy cat and rubbed his cheek on my shoulder. “You were wearing _far_ too much by way of clothing.”

Over the next hour or so before we fell asleep, I spent my time coddling and comforting Holmes. I cleaned the few opens lash marks, and massaged ointment into the palms of his hands. He was still in a meditative state when he eventually drifted off in my arms.

By the time he woke in the morning, all of the tension and frustration that had been plaguing him- and by extension me- had passed. He grinned and fluttered about our rooms after breakfast. His good mood was infectious, and when Detective Gregson arrived to seek his help with a case he couldn’t help remarking on it.

Holmes and I shared a glance while I poured the tea for us all. “I’ve given him a new health regimen to follow.” I explained.

“Oh, you did? Tough, I suppose?”

I smiled over the rim of my cup. “Mm, indeed. Very strict.”

 


End file.
